


Five Steps to Surviving Cabin Fever

by hippocrates460



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Praise Kink, Secret Snarry Swap 2018, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocrates460/pseuds/hippocrates460
Summary: Harry's worst nightmare comes true, instead of spending his days off lounging around his apartment he's been called in for a case. It all gets worse when the case drags on for longer than expected and Robards decides he'll need help.





	Five Steps to Surviving Cabin Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the prompt, it was so much fun to write this, and thank you to the mods for organizing! To Lilian: Thank you for your help and support.
> 
> Prompt 17 from writcraft: Harry was looking forward to a relaxed Christmas with the Weasleys, drinking too much and eating too much. When a case at the Ministry takes on a new urgency, Harry's plans are turned upside down. Things go from bad to worse when he finds out he will be spending Christmas with none other than the Ministry's potions consultant, Severus Snape.

Ron had given him the magazine as a joke. The front reads ‘Five Easy Ways to Beat the Cabin Fever!’ in a cheerful font and Harry has read it three times, front to back. He knows more about the difference between healthy and unhealthy carbs than he ever wanted to know and really kind of wants to go shout at the Agony Aunt. Lisa is a real bitch and it’s obvious from all her answers.

Neither Ron nor Harry had expected him to be stuck here for more than a day though, and now Harry is without a change of clothes, running low on food, and still operating under the strict orders to not let the stupid abandoned mansion out of his sights. Why the smugglers chose the middle of winter in the middle of Scotland, he’ll never know. He’s about to start on his sixth re-read of the Most Aggravating of all Advice Columns, when there’s banging on the door. He opens the door, besides himself with excitement that there’s another person here, and finds Snape.

_1\. The first step to riding out the horrible weather without losing your mind is, of course, to make sure your basic needs are met. Cabin fever is no fun, but this weather can be deadly._

Snape wrestles his way in to the apartment and plonks a very large bag onto the middle of the table. The table creaks dangerously and Snape sighs. Harry is immediately overcome with the special kind of nervousness he always feels around Snape.

“You could not be bothered to do the most basic of spells?” are the first words out of his mouth and Harry knows that was not a question.

“No magic,” he croaks, and shivers as if Snape needed a demonstration that it’s cold in here. “Robards said the house has wards to detect magic.”

“Those never work as well as you want them to,” Snape mutters, but he accepts defeat. With brisk movements, Snape unpacks the bag. Food and water are essential, Harry hears in his mind, in his mental Lisa-voice. _If you’re worried about your pipes freezing, keep the water running. Stock up on all your favourites!_ None of Harry’s favourites are in the bag. There’s a shrunken basket with enough wood to last him a week, and there’s jars of what Harry hopes is soup, and tins of beans. 

“Robards will check up on us in a few days,” Snape tells him, still laying out different things on the table, “you can present him with a list of things then.”

“Days?” Harry picks up some of the clothes Hermione must have given Snape off the table and decides wearing two jumpers over each other isn’t as embarrassing as biting your tongue because your teeth are chattering. “Wait.” It hits him like a train. “Us?”

“We’re partnered for this case, Potter. They needed a Potions master and I’m the only one that doesn’t have young children.”

Oh Merlin’s fucking... “Alright then.” There’s only one chair. There’s only one bed. There’s a separate bathroom, but it’s so cold in there Harry hasn’t even tried to shower yet. How the fuck are they going to do this?

 _Staying warm is essential,_ Lisa-voice says. She’s American and vapid, Harry thinks, the absolute anti-Snape. It’s good advice though, so Harry kneels down and tries to get the little woodstove to work. Snape finishes unpacking soon, and tries to find places around the tiny room to put things down. The upside of the room being small is that by the time Harry has found a kettle, filled it up, and made them both some tea, the room is noticeably warmer.

“There you go,” he places a mug down next to Snape and sees he’s already working on a list. ‘Food,’ it says at the top. “More blankets,” Harry suggests, “it’s worse at night.”

“Isn’t it always,” Snape mutters, and Harry realizes that this must be as bad for Snape as it is for him. _Everything’s easier when you’re together_ , mind-Lisa says, _invite some friends over or spend some quality time with your family now that you can._ Have to, more like, but at least it’s not just Harry and his thoughts anymore. 

_2\. The second step is of course to make the dark a little brighter! Clean everything you can, get some indoor plants, or finally paint that wall._

Harry sits in the chair that was already there, and Snape sits in the one he Conjured. They’d both deemed it necessary magic to be able to sit, but Harry won’t lie and say that Snape’s chair doesn’t look infinitely more comfortable than his. He’s cleaned out the stove and swept the floor, and Snape found some candles somewhere. The light dances against the windows, which have been spelled so that they can look out and no one can look in. Snape probably invented it on the spot, so Harry just prays it works. It’s not exactly toasty in the room, but it’s mostly comfortable, and that’s a huge win in his book. The mental Lisa-voice has been appeased for now.

“How are we going to do sleeping?” he asks, after opening and closing his mouth many, many times to ask the exact same question in the hours since Snape arrived. They’ve had dinner now, and he hopes vaguely that it’ll make the conversation less awkward.

“We should wait until the smugglers have gone to sleep,” Snape says, blowing into his tea. “Then set up monitoring spells around the property so we can both sleep at the same time.”

He doesn’t look at Harry, but Harry knows this is the only chance he’ll get to protest sleeping in the same bed as Snape. He’s even been given an out. ‘Maybe we should take turns and stand watch,’ he could say. But he doesn’t. “Three out of four go to sleep early, around ten; the last one should be asleep by midnight.”

_Ask your friends for help with a project you never had time to work on before. Maybe someone has a sewing machine? If your surroundings are nice, you’ll feel better._

After four hours of trudging through the snow and cursing the arsehole smuggler for being a smuggler and staying up late and also hurting innocent animals probably, Harry is so tired you could have told him he’d be sleeping with a dragon and he would have cheered at the chance to feel warm. As it is, he nearly cries in relief when they get back to the little guard house and open the door to warmth and light. The smell of dust and beeswax candles has never before made him want to pray, but it does now. He’s so tired he just takes off his shoes and wet jeans and slides into bed. He’s only barely aware of Snape blowing out the candles. He definitely doesn’t notice when Snape joins him in bed.

_3\. To prevent the aching boredom of cabin fever, learn something new! Get someone to teach you how to knit, or look up a video of some kind of food you’re craving. Indoor hobbies are fun too._

The next morning he does realize. He’s warm and comfortable in a way he can’t remember being ever, and surrounded by the relaxing kind of pressure that is unique to hugs. It’s a little discomfiting, and it becomes a lot discomfiting when Harry realizes he feels well-rested and generally great because of Snape. He slept curled up in Snape’s arms. Currently has his head smashed against Snape’s chest. Snape, who is breathing deep and steady. He opens his eyes and leans back inch by inch trying not to wake Snape up, then has to pause when he realizes that even dungeon bats look harmless when they’re sniffling in their sleep.

Harry finally works his way all the way out the bed, uses the bathroom (actually showers because he’s not alone anymore and it’d be rude), and is halfway through his ninth re-read of the magazine when Snape wakes up. It’s immediately obvious from the way he just sort of. Gasps.

“I’ve made tea,” Harry tries. “I also made batter for pancakes, it’s resting but I can make some right now if you’re hungry.”

“For breakfast?” Snape sounds harmless when he wakes up, too. Groggy.

“I don’t like omelettes,” Harry says, not wanting to explain about his complex relationship to sunny-side up and bacon in the mornings. It gives him the Dursley-shivers.

“Have you not got that memorized by now?” Snape nods to the magazine as he hauls himself out of bed and across the room to find some clothes.

“I didn’t bring anything else to read,” Harry shrugs. He can entertain himself.

“There’s books.” Snape has his clothes and disappears into the bathroom. “If you damage them I will hurt you!” he shouts through the door.

Harry rummages through the stacks of well-loved books. None on Potions, as he would’ve thought. Three Muggle children’s books, something about 17th century art. _The Hobbit_. Harry’s never read _The Hobbit_.

“Muggle books,” he says, when they’re having breakfast.

“They’re good,” Snape shrugs. “I see you picked one.”

“I never read any of his books,” Harry nods. “But I heard there’s a film.”

“I don’t like films,” Snape wrinkles his nose and it’s quite something. “They’re so...”

Harry gets that. “Loud.”

“Overwhelming,” Snape admits, and he looks at Harry curiously.

“That one has more syllables.” Harry lets himself smile as he would at a friend and, to his surprise, Snape’s lips twitch up, too. They’re getting to know each other.

“Can you tell me what you did to make these?” Snape asks finally, after pouring out the last bit of tea. “I’ve never had them like this before.”

“I add a bit of olive oil to the batter,” Harry says. It’s hardly a secret but it’s how Molly taught him. “It helps with the sticking.”

A thought floats into his head that he can’t stop. He also can’t stop himself from laughing at it, and then Snape’s face crumbles back into a sneer and dammit. He’s going to have to explain. “The magazine. It has an article on cabin fever, that’s why Ron gave it to me. He thought it was funny.”

“And it took you this long to get the joke?” Alright, point to Snape. Harry chuckles a little.

“No, I just thought. The article recommends picking up an indoor hobby to pass the time. They suggest cooking.”

“People get paid for the strangest things,” is all Snape says, and you really can’t argue with that.

 _If you did invite your friends over, you can ask them to teach you something. You’ll be surprised at the talents those close to you have managed to keep hidden! If nothing else, you’ll learn a little more about someone you love._ Harry decides his personal new hobby will be to learn things about Snape, and he spends the rest of the day very grateful that hexing would definitely be considered unnecessary magic. 

“Were you in love with my mother?” just gets a raised eyebrow and a death-glare.

He gets even less than that for: “What kind of music do you like?

They spend most of the day in silence, reading, in between meals, but every now and then Harry looks up. “How come you quit teaching?”

“Oh dear Lord,” Snape sighs, “surely you can figure out the answer to that one by yourself?”

“Yeah, probably. Do you ever get nightmares from the war?”

“Potter,” Snape warns, and Harry becomes quiet again. He thinks of the article on cabin fever. They have enough food, there is plenty of water, it’s even mostly comfortable temperature-wise. The room is nice, it smells like woodfire and food now, even if the scent of dust and abandonment lingers a little. Harry is learning a lot about Hobbit culture and also Middle Earth, and even though he’s not learned much about Snape, maybe he has a new hobby. 

“What is your favourite book of all times?” he asks. And he swears Snape actually prays. After a long moment of muttering before his eyes open again, deep black and angry: “ _Peter Pan_.”

Harry beams at him. “My favourite book is _Alice in Wonderland_.”

“Of course it is, you’re a force of chaos.” Snape turns back to his book. The one on art.

That night in bed, Harry tries again. He knows some things are easier to say when it’s dark. “Can you please tell me about my mum?”

“Her favourite book was _Alice in Wonderland_ , too,” Snape says, entirely unexpected, after being quiet for so long Harry thought he’d be ignored again. His eyes burn and he moves closer to Snape. “You stand like her, when you shout you make the same faces. She was terrible at spelling, mixed up definitely and defiantly until well after her OWLs.”

It’s the first time Harry hears anything about his mum, Lily. Just her. He tries to sniffle discreetly and folds in on himself, as if he needs to protect where he’s softest. He wraps his arms around his legs.

“Petunia... She used to say that your mum dressed as though she had fallen into a pile of clothes and walked out surprised not to be naked.” He inhales shakily and Harry decides they can just both be upset and pretend this never happened in the morning. He closes in, pushes his face against Snape’s side, and sighs heavily as he’s wrapped up in warm strong arms. “It wasn’t true though, she could wear anything, and she did wear strange combinations, but she always looked so cool doing it.”

“Like what?”

“Her dad’s clothes, things from vintage stores, she had this jacket, we bought it in Manchester together one summer... It was enormous and furry and she was just never without it. She would show up in clothes that were clearly never hers, tied together with a rope, and look entirely comfortable. Like you, I suppose.”

“Like me?” Harry laughs; it’s true that he still doesn’t have the hang of how clothes are supposed to fit but he doesn’t think anyone’s ever accused him of looking _cool_.

“Do you not see all the articles the _Prophet_ writes about you?” He does but he doesn’t read them, unlike a certain someone, apparently. “I believe homeless chic was the latest.”

“Don’t tell me there’s a picture with the banana peel,” Harry groans; that was the lowest point of his year. To his surprise Snape just laughs, soft and low. “I legitimately Apparated into a wheelie bin. That was not a fashion decision.”

Snape is laughing harder now, covering his mouth with one of his hands, judging by the muffled sounds, and it sounds so _happy._ So light. Harry decides they’ve had enough Lily-talk for a day and burrows closer. He can’t help a “can’t believe you think I’m cool,” though. And it just sets Snape off again. He has a wonderful laugh, rich and loud, and Harry could live here, in this moment.

_4\. Much as it’s tempting to stay inside and revel in your new-found passion for knitting, don’t forget the outdoors! Nothing looks better than fresh snow, and some Vitamin D will do you good._

The next morning is when they’re supposed to meet Robards at the nearest point he could Apparate to without being seen. Harry and Snape are huddled under his Invisibility Cloak and elbowing each other every other step, while they make their way through what a more cheerful person might describe as a winter wonderland. Harry’s not feeling cheerful at all, so he’s calling it a sub-zero hellscape. Snape just sighs and rolls his eyes. _Fresh air can clear the cobwebs from your mind,_ mental-Lisa says. Go fuck off, Harry thinks back.

Robards is already waiting for them, behind a couple of trees, pacing up and down trying to keep warm. “Where the fuck were you,” he hisses when Harry takes off the cloak.

“They’re awake,” Snape explains. They’d actually been rather busy this morning. “We had to be careful.”

“Well, here you go.” Robards sticks out a bag. “Everything you asked for, and all the things Molly Weasley forced me to include.”

Harry can’t not grin at that, he loves it when Mrs. Weasley stands up for him. No one will let him live down the time she brought him lunch at work, but he never felt more cared for than he had in that moment.

They report to Robards and decide to take a different way back to the guard house, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of how many animals the smugglers have stored, but almost get caught when a Kneazle spots them and starts wailing. Snape takes the bag and Harry tries to keep the cloak around them as they run across the frozen gardens. The smugglers don’t even follow them, seem to consider themselves safe and unseen, but Harry and Snape still have racing pulses even after some tea and a rummage through the food.

“This is ridiculous,” Snape complains when the fourth basket of fresh bread comes out of the bag. “Does she think we’ll eat each other if there isn’t enough?”

“Nah,” Harry finds his favourite, treacle tart, and grins. “She just likes to show love through food and knitwear.”

“Your mother-in-law is insane,” Snape decides, and he takes a bite of the still-warm mashed potatoes.

“Not my mother-in-law,” Harry laughs. “Did you get that from the _Prophet_ , too?” He is still going through the bag and laughs harder when he sees what Ron must have thrown in there. “How do you like playing chess with someone that can barely tell the pieces apart?”

“That sounds exhilarating,” Snape drawls. “Is this a part of your article’s recommendations?”

“It could count as a hobby...” Harry fishes out a Weasley jumper with two large S’s on the front. “Oh. Merlin.”

He looks at Snape and Snape is immediately alert, then confused at the jumper. “What is that?”

“It seems you’ve been adopted too,” Harry is biting his tongue to stop himself laughing. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Snape takes the jumper from Harry and can’t hide how carefully he touches it; the colours are good, dark grey and deep forest green, they work with his colouring. “How did she know I was here?”

“Ron must’ve told.” Harry can feel his lip wobbling at the effort of not laughing, but Snape looks so earnest, so happy.

They don’t even get to try any of the food before the wards chime and they have to go find out who just Apparated into the grounds. They spend a long time waiting next to the gate, both wearing wool and more wool and also their Weasley jumpers, and when they finally walk back as it’s getting dark Harry thinks _You’ll be surprised by how much your surroundings have changed, and at the new perspective it can give you on familiar things._ It did; he feels better. They’re getting better at staying hidden under the Cloak together too, and Snape is a comforting presence, even when they don’t talk.

“Chess?” he asks, while filling up the kettle.

“Sorry?” he hears from the bathroom, and he turns around to see Snape changing into his pyjamas, his sodden trousers hanging over the door. Harry has to swallow a few times to get back to the tea making, and all he can think about is long strong legs, defined muscles, black hair. 

“I’m making tea,” he manages finally, throat a little dry. “Do you. Would you want to play chess?”

“Oh,” Snape sounds closer now, “yes, if you’re in the mood to get throttled, by all means.”

They set up and Harry feels as if he’s holding his own pretty well. He looks back through the bag, putting away the last of the food, when he finds a pack of... Yes. “Chocolate fingers!” he says out loud. “Bless you, Ginny.” He holds the box out and Snape takes one.

“I don’t think I’ve had these ever.”

“Mel introduced me to them, and now I’m obsessed,” Harry sighs happily and takes another one. It’s rather nice to sit here in the dark, surrounded by candles, drinking tea and arguing with his chess pieces. He notices Snape’s surprised look. “What? The Weasleys?”

“They’re a lot,” Snape admits. “Who is ‘Mel’?” The distaste at being forced to use a nickname is obvious from his voice.

“Mel’s Ginny’s girlfriend. Seriously, don’t call her Melanie, she hates it. She’s a Muggle.”

Snape makes a weird noise and Harry looks up from his chocolate fingers-fuelled contemplation. He knows he won’t win but he’d like to not-lose for at least an hour or so. 

“Muggle girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Arthur and her get along like a house on fire.”

“You’re not?” Snape tries. “The _Prophet_?”

“Oh!” Harry grins; he’d forgotten. “Yeah, they think we’re getting married soon, right? Nah, Gin’s as gay as I am. Horse to A3.”

“Knight!” the piece screams, but it does as it’s told. Must not be the worst move ever, then. Harry looks up to find Snape staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth slack.

“Is that...” Shit. He shouldn’t have said that. They have days left where they’ll be sharing a bed. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to, does it – should I?”

“That’d be – hypocritical,” Snape says, voice hoarse and weird. “I just. Don’t worry, I have no such illusions.”

What’s that supposed to mean? Harry pretends to focus on the chess board to try and give himself space to think. When he thinks he finally gets it he looks up at Snape with a grin.

“Not again,” Snape groans. “Did we not do the questions thing yesterday?”

“You never even answered half of them,” Harry points out, “and I won’t ask if you don’t want me to, but you should know _Lockhart_ is rather the opposite of my type. Not everyone likes pretty boys.”

“Oh lucky you,” Snape sighs, and that breaks the tension. “He’s the reason I worked so hard on perfecting my undetectable silencing spells. To fuck him without having to listen to him, that is the dream.”

Harry cackles, “No way. No way.”

“He was four years below me, so you’re right, not him exactly. Enough people that say dumb things, though.” And why should that be disappointing? Harry rallies and brings his attention back to the game, and they end up having a pretty pleasant night.

_5\. I know, I know, you want to be wrapped in your duvet and surrounded by warmth and candles, but you really should make sure to keep the endorphins going! If you can’t go outside, roll out your yoga mat, do some sit ups or combine being wrapped up in your duvet with exercise. Have loads of winter sex!_

Sex is on Harry’s mind when he wakes up, already hard, and opens one eye only to find Snape is doing some kind of... morning stretches? It shouldn’t be sexy, he’s wearing at least three jumpers and saggy old pyjama trousers, but Harry _knows_ what his legs look like under that and also seeing him move so fluidly is captivating. Snape catches him staring after only a few minutes of marvelling at his flexibility. He stops abruptly. _Explore that fantasy you’ve always had,_ mental-Lisa sings. 

“No, no, no,” that won’t do. “Don’t stop on my account. I’ll turn around if you want me to.”

“I was done,” Snape says, his jaw tight, and he clearly wasn’t but if he wants to lie Harry’ll let him.

“We’re friends, right?” Harry says, still on his side to hide how hard he is. _Now is the time for slow and lazy in the bathtub, and seeing how many times you can switch positions before you’re desperate to come,_ mental-Lisa is insistent and whoever wrote that article is insane.

“No?” Snape whirls around to stare at him incredulously. “Of course we’re not friends.”

“Excuse me.” Harry sits up but makes sure the blankets are covering his lap. “You clearly care about me and enjoy spending time with me.”

“I think you’ll find these things are supposed to be mutual before they can be referred to as ‘friendship’.” Snape turns around to make tea with a frown and misses the way Harry’s whole chest must be visibly opening up with how warm and bright he feels.

“Wait a second,” he says, smiling as he never has before. “I care about you and enjoy spending time with you, and you didn’t correct me just now.”

“I feel that way about my cat,” Snape points out, but he’s ducking as if to hide his face.

“You have a cat.” Harry grins; his cheeks are starting to hurt. “We’re friends and we’re getting to know each other! What’s your cat’s name? Hellebore?”

Snape sniffles haughtily, “Of course not. Her name is Tiger.”

“Oh no,” Harry laughs, “is she striped?”

“Not even,” Snape turns around and is all-out whiny now, “but she won’t respond to anything else.”

It is too much for Harry and he nearly falls over laughing, “Bested by a cat!”

“Hush,” Snape laughs, and his eyes are all crinkly. His laugh is still too loud for the small room, and Harry wants to drink the sound. “I’ll burn your bacon.”

“Oh gods,” Harry laughs, and thinking about Snape’s cat has made him ready to face the world without embarrassing himself. He gets up, time to shower and change.

“I’m bored,” Harry whines, not twenty minutes after they’ve had breakfast. _Alleviating your boredom by masturbating could also work, but the oxytocin rush of partnered sex is unparalleled._ Screw Ron for buying him the stupid magazine.

“Read your book,” Snape suggests, without looking up. 

“I want to go flying.” He’s tired of reading, his eyes hurt, he’s tired of being cooped up. What he really wants is to go dance all night and get a little high on affection and maybe have some athletic sex. And there he goes again. “Snape, I’m so bored.” Horny.

“How old are you?” Snape complains, snapping the book shut. “Can’t you entertain yourself?”

It’s the perfect opening and Harry can’t help himself at all. The words just fall from his mouth. “Of course I can, but it’s not considered polite to do so in company.”

Harry’s brain and Snape catch up to what he just said at exactly the same time, and they both flush red. “Jesus Christ, Potter,” Snape hisses.

“No,” Harry tries to joke, “ _Harry James_ Potter.” Which reminds him. “Hey, since we’re friends. You can call me Harry.”

“You will find out my middle name from my obituary,” Snape tells him. “And don’t call me Severus either, I have a reputation.”

“I know your middle name.” Harry was the one to work through all the court documents to get Snape out of Azkaban, after all. “It’s Tiberius. I remember because I expected it to be Tobias, of course; once I saw the T...” He does get hexed then. 

It takes almost twenty minutes to reverse it, and even after they keep glancing at the stupid mansion to see if they’re going to be discovered. Are the smugglers paying attention to their magic detection wards at all?

“If I die because you couldn’t resist the urge to make my toenails grow, I will haunt you forever,” Harry decides.

“Is that something?” Snape taps the glass, not apologizing at all. Something is moving inside the house. They’re kneeling next to each other on the bed, staring out through the window that gives them the best view of the house.

“I don’t think so,” Harry says, using his sleeve to wipe away condensation. “I think they’d respond faster if they thought there was a genuine threat.”

“They’re either crap at these magic monitoring spells or really fucking lazy.”

“Or the wards I placed on this guard house are holding,” Harry suggests and Snape just turns to gape at him. “First thing I did,” Harry explains. “I’m not sure how well it works, of course, but they’re supposed to forget the guard house exists when they’re not staring directly at it.”

Snape turns around and leans against the wall with a heavy sigh. “Of course your wards are holding, Potter. You’re very good at this.”

“Harry,” Harry corrects, but the compliment puts him in the best mood he’s been in for years. It makes him want to... Celebrate. “You really think we’re safe?”

“Yes.” Snape sounds as world-weary as ever.

Harry looks around and he’s rather happy. Knows for sure they’re safe, actually is starting to like this little room, kind of wants more of Snape. Decides to go for it. He leans in a little, and Snape startles into him. “Sorry,” he huffs.

“Why are you so close?” Snape tells him, and his eyes are dark, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion, he’s stunning and striking and Harry places the smallest little kiss on his upper lip. Has to force himself to open his eyes again afterwards. The light seems brighter, Snape seems a little blurry. “Oh.” Is all Snape says.

“Can I do that again?” Harry asks, still hovering over Snape, who is pushed back against the wall. Snape nods a little, then holds Harry off with a hand against his sternum.

“Is this a suggestion from your article on Stockholm syndrome?” he asks, sterner than Harry’s seen him in a while, and Harry can’t help the nervous giggle that escapes him.

“Cabin fever,” he corrects, “and sex is a suggestion, it’s supposed to be good for endorphins or something, but I’m happy to take this however far you want to.”

Snape narrows his eyes and Harry settles on his knees more comfortably in anticipation of the questions. “What if I change my mind in a bit?”

“That’s fine,” Harry shrugs. It would be; he likes his partners enthusiastic all the way through.

“What if I told you I won’t have sex before marriage?” Harry knows his grin is feral and he’s glad to see it doesn’t scare Snape.

“I’d tell you I won’t get married without my family present so we’d have to wait at least until the case is over.”

‘That’s fair’, Snape’s shrug says. “If you hurt me, even accidentally, I’ll probably panic and hex you blue. If that’s too...”

“That’s fine.” And it really is. “If you tell me I’m good and call me pretty you might get a chance to see me come untouched.”

Snape’s eyes open comically, and the little growl that escaped his is all Harry’ll ever need. He’s glad they’re already on the bed when Snape pushes him back, lies down on top of him, and starts kissing him with a hunger he’s never felt before.

“Holy fuck,” he pants when he’s trying to take Snape’s clothes off and his own clothes off and also keep kissing. He’s tangled in a shirt and Snape helps him out. “Holy fuck this is so much better.”

“Better than what?” Snape hisses, low and close, before ripping off Harry’s pants so that he’s entirely naked.

“Better than I dreamed,” Harry cries, as a nail traces up his balls, leaving him tingling all over. “Gods I want this so much.”

Snape bends down over him, wriggles his way out of his trousers and pants and finally, finally, touches the full length of his warm naked body against Harry’s. “Tell me what you want,” he mumbles, leaning over to lick at one of Harry’s nipples.

“Oh,” Harry cries, and he grabs Snape’s hair, which is soft and silky and also very warm. “Oh I want you in me, and I want you on top – on top of me and pushing me down and...” Snape’s teeth sink down and Harry arches his back into it, “until I can’t stop myself from coming!”

“Good boy,” Snape tells him, licking at his ear, “and you’ll tell me when you’re close.”

“Yes,” Harry promises, “please I won’t need much, _Accio Lube_ , please.”

“Harry, tell me how you want me in you,” Snape tells him, warming the lube up in his hand.

“Just like this,” Harry promises, looking up to see Snape slicking himself; it makes his stomach clench in anticipation. “Just push in slowly, and – and hold my legs.”

“So good for me,” Snape says, and he grins when Harry shivers. “Close your eyes.”

Harry obeys but decides he doesn’t like this much. “May I please keep them open?”

“If you wish,” Snape says, but he sounds surprised. Harry opens his eyes and has to squint to see much more than vague outlines, the light too bright, his glasses long-lost. He nods. He does want to keep his eyes open, as long as he can at least. “You’re good for telling me what you want.”

Harry feels his eyes sting, blinks away the tears, and urges Snape on with a leg wrapped around him. “Thank you,” he mumbles, “thank you, thank you.” Snape pets him, slow and steady, his legs, his stomach, and takes his time lining up, pushing forward and waiting for Harry’s body to respond before pushing deeper.

Harry feels full and whole, and when Snape bottoms out he places a hand on his stomach, right where he’s sure he should be able to feel Snape. “That’s it,” Snape tells him, and goose bumps spread all over his skin, “you’re doing so well. Look at you.”

He starts to push in and out, and before long Harry starts to squirm. He can hold it off, but he is getting closer. He squeezes his cock, just once, then buries his hands in Snape’s hair again. The way Snape is leaning forward now lets him touch his face, trace his fingers over the shape of it. “Mmm.”

“What was that?” Snape asks, setting a steady rhythm, deeper and harder than before.

“Perfect,” is all Harry manages, and he’s still cupping Snape’s face so he pulls him in closer for a kiss. At kissing distance he can see reasonably well and the expression of wonder is doing things for him, almost as much as being told he’s doing well. “You’re perfect.” He mumbles, the words coming out before his brain has signed off on them. He’s so full.

Snape’s expression is one of pain, for just a second, and he leans down on his elbows, still thrusting, and Harry lets his hands wander around, shoulders, neck, back. Back to his face. Snape’s getting a little sweaty now, and this new angle is perfect, and when Harry wraps his legs around and squeezes, they both groan.

“Oh fuck,” Snape says, “I can’t believe how tight you are.” Harry wraps his arms tighter, kissing Snape’s face wherever he can reach, feeling the perfect burn, the deep stretch, the aching closeness. “You’re so beautiful,” Snape sighs, and he kisses Harry back. “Fuck, tell me you’re close.”

“I’m close,” Harry promises. He tugs at his cock again and is immediately five times closer. “Oh, I’m very close.”

“Tell me how to make you come,” Snape urges, sitting up a little, snapping his hips, “you’re doing so well, let me see you come.”

Harry wraps his legs tighter, pulls Snape in closer, and they pant into each other’s mouths. “Keep going, come inside me,” he can feel his whole body clenching, coming as Snape fucks him, “come come come.” Snape does come, shuddering, his eyes squeezed closed. Empty. Wrung out. 

“Ah,” Harry tries to speak when Snape tries to move, and he pulls him in again instead. “Not yet.” He’s still shivering, wriggling his toes, relaxing into the mattress.

“What do you need?” Snape whispers.

“To be held,” Harry tells him; to be safe, he doesn’t say.

Snape spells them clean and wriggles them down under the covers, holding Harry close the whole time. Harry feels kept and wanted and as close to at peace as he ever has.

“If the smugglers move now I will kill them all,” he sighs, and Snape laughs. He opens his eyes to see Snape’s beautiful bright eyes, and kisses him. “Hi.”

“Merlin, Potter. You sap,” Snape teases, but he’s grinning still, “you’re so...”

“What?” Harry demands, and Snape shakes no. “Who’s a sap now, just tell me.” He prods Snape with his foot.

“Stunning.” Snape admits, and he looks sad for a bit, before settling back down on the pillow. 

“Snape,” Harry urges, prodding him again, and Snape shushes him. “Severus.” He opens his eyes at that. “I want you very much.”

“Oh,” Snape sighs. As if it’s unexpected but not unwelcome. “I’ll keep you,” he warns.

“That’s alright,” Harry promises, and they kiss again before their wards all start screaming at once. Snape’s whole face changes, anger and revulsion.

“I will kill them all,” he grumbles, wriggling away from Harry. He shoots cleaning spells all around, throws Harry his clothes, puts on his own, and talks about torturing smugglers the whole time. 

The rest of the day is a big rush of catching smugglers and running around and explaining what happened to Robards and trying to pretend they weren’t shagging until minutes before the whole team Apparated in. By the end of it Harry’s left with an enormous stack of paperwork, and a headache that won’t go away. Their things are still in the guard house, and the ministry is quiet this late at night. He decides to pack up everything that’s urgent, balancing the stack as he walks down the stairs to avoid getting stared at in the lifts, and when he walks into Snape’s office, there’s a tea set waiting in between two comfortable chairs by the fire.

“Hi,” he says.

“Sap,” Snape answers, but he makes an extra mug appear.

“I don’t feel like picking up our things or working on this paperwork,” Harry complains, but he sits down and opens a file, starts scratching out everything they found out about the smugglers’ love of exotic lizards. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Snape tells him, and they look at each other over the little table, flames playing on their faces. “I’m sure Robards would understand.”

“I’d rather have Christmas Day off,” Harry says, but it’s a lie. He doesn’t want to go to the Burrow because Snape won’t be there. “I’ll be too full still to move on Boxing Day, if the last years are anything to go by.” And that’s not a lie, but it’s not quite the truth either. Snape nods as though he believes Harry.

“I presume you’ll be going to the Burrow?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I should be there now.” He decides to be brave and takes a deep breath: “You should be, too.”

“Why did Molly make me that jumper?” Snape whispers, setting down the file he was working on.

“Ehm,” Harry coughs, and he sets his files down to go sit on Snape’s lap. Probably Severus now. “There might be a small chance that she knows me better than I know myself,” he mumbles, close enough to Snape’s ear that he’s sure he can hear. Snape nods and grabs his face to kiss him again. Deep and thorough. They don’t make it to the Burrow until the next morning.

_Be honest about what you want. You have this time to talk it out if you don’t both (or all!) want the same thing and speaking the truth always leads to unexpected things. If nothing else, at least it won’t be boring._

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](https://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3848421.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1781195.html), or [Dreamwidth](https://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/1099173.html).


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